From a High Tower (21 page)

“Well now,” Rosamund said cheerfully, when she had finished. “Linens and curtains, a featherbed and a few nice comforts, I think. I'll be back—”

A tap on the side of the
vardo
interrupted them. They both turned to see Captain Cody standing there. “If yer goin' to come along with us, you might as well be of some use in the show,” he said, sounding just a little bit cross. “Poor Ellie hasta move like a cat with her tail on fire t'change after th' Quadrille. You kin take her place as a Injun gal. Ellie, give her yer costume an' show her.” He started to move off, then came back. “An' I ain't payin' ye,” he added, then truly left.

“Well,” Rosamund said, both eyebrows shooting toward her hairline. “Is he always that . . .”

Giselle shrugged. “It is
his
show,” she pointed out. “And you
did
just attach yourself to it without asking leave.”

“So I did.” Rosamund gazed at the empty doorway. “Well. I'll do it. But only after I make myself perfectly comfortable.”

She leapt down out of the front of the
vardo
where the door was, tied her horse to the side of the wagon, and climbed up into the cart, chirping to the horse and slapping the reins on his back.

Giselle smiled to herself. Things were beginning to look . . . very interesting. In Hunt Master Rosamund von Schwarzwald, Captain Cody might just have met his match.

“W
ELCOME
to my new home,” said Rosamund, as Giselle settled onto a fat cushion on the floor and accepted a cup of tea. “What do you think?”

“I really like it,” Giselle confessed. Rosamund had opted to get someone to come attach fold-down seats to the inside of her
vardo,
with permanently attached cushions. For the rest, she had added curtains in the expected earthy colors, and a lot of leather straps to hold things into their shelves. Even the bedding was in earthy colors. It didn't look like the sort of décor most people would think of as “feminine,” but it certainly seemed to suit Rosamund.

“Fewer things to tip over. I am not an expert at driving,” Rosamund confessed. “But that is not why I invited you here. I expect there is a lot you want to ask me about.”

Giselle was silent for a moment. “What exactly do you
do?”
she asked, deciding that this pretty much summed up all of her questions. “Mother was not in the Brotherhood as such, and the visitors we got never told me very much about it.”

“Ah . . . now that . . . is a good question.” Rosamund settled back on her cushion, as a light breeze stirred the curtains covering the open door and the curtains closing off her bed from the rest of the wagon. “The Brotherhood mostly kills things, quite simply,” she said, without any hesitation at all. “Bad things, of course. I've disposed of
vampir,
werewolves—and a werebear. A witch or two. Several Elemental Magicians that had gone to the bad. I've sent many sorts of spirits on their way, which I suppose is not technically killing things, since they were already dead.”

“What are
vampir?”
Giselle asked. “Mother never mentioned them.”

“She likely wouldn't have encountered any, they prefer to lurk in ruins. They live on the blood of living creatures. I have been
told
that there are some who do not kill their victims, and who actually live on the blood of animals rather than humans but . . .” Rosamund shrugged. “I have never seen any. All the
vampir
I killed were murderers, and the only things ‘living' that they left behind were unfortunates who they turned into others of their kind.” She gestured at the shelves. “I have a book, I'll loan it to you.”

“That . . . would be useful,” Giselle replied. “Have you dispatched more things than that?”

“Some bad trolls. Other things that one might think were only in fairy stories. I've done so alone, and with help. I know how to recognize most Elemental creatures on sight, and how to combat them if need be. Yes, I am an Earth Master, and yes, most Earth Masters are healers, like Tante Gretchen, but I am not.” She shrugged. “All things considered, it's just as well. Most of the active warriors of the Brotherhood are Fire Masters, actually, although my guardian Gunther is also an Earth Master.”

“How did you . . . come to be this thing?” Giselle asked.

“Oh . . . that is a very
short
story. I showed my magic quite young, and was being taught by another Earth Master whom I called my Grandmother, although we were not related. A werewolf attacked us both. I was rescued by the man who came to be my guardian, with others of the Brotherhood. Everyone decided it would be safer for me
and
my father and mother if I were to live at the Lodge.” But Rosamund's expression had darkened a great deal, and Giselle knew immediately that there was more to the story than just that. “I literally grew up training to be one of the Brotherhood, especially after they all realized that hurting, and not healing, was my forte.” She sipped her tea. “I have the advantage of you. I know, more or less, your story. Gunther passed it to me when he sent me to intercept you and this . . . lot.”

Giselle giggled; in part with relief that she would not need to tell over her tale, and in part because of the expression Rosamund had on her face when she said “this . . . lot.”

Rosamund sighed. “Amateurs,” she elaborated, a little sourly. “I can only assume that because the distances are so great in the New World, and because the native Elementals do not respond significantly to white Elemental Masters, they are accustomed to vast, barren spaces in which their actions have few, if any, consequences.”

“Well,” Giselle suggested, “Perhaps you should compare the Black Forest to territory crawling with hostile troops, troops who have often left traps behind them.”

“It's accurate,” Rosamund agreed. “Perhaps not
crawling with hostile troops,
but certainly the part about traps being left behind.” She took a hearty drink of her tea then smiled over the teacup. “I do believe we are going to be excellent friends, you and I.”

Giselle started a little in surprise, which turned to pleasure. “I haven't had many friends,” she confessed. “Three, really. Mother's friends from the Brotherhood and Tante Gretchen.”

“Ah! Pieter Meinhoff and Joachim Beretz.” Rosamund nodded, and offered Giselle more tea. “Joachim taught me to shoot. Most of
my
friends as a child were adults, too. Introducing me to other children didn't . . . work out very well.”

“How so?” Giselle asked, curiously.

“Well, it generally began with me quizzing them on what sorts of lethal skills they had—I knew better than to talk about magic, of course, but it seemed to me asking about their ability to shoot, or stab, or bash in heads was just making sure we were all able to defend ourselves if something dangerous came at us. And then they'd ask me
why,
and I'd tell them, and they'd run away screaming and have nightmares for months.” Rosamund smiled as Giselle gave her an odd look, not sure whether or not to believe her. “It's quite true. You can ask Gunther if you ever meet him. Or Joachim.”

“I'm beginning to get the notion that those of us born to magic are not easy children to raise,” she said, finally.

“Oh we aren't. It's just as well it generally runs in families. And to change the subject entirely . . . am I going slightly mad, or is your hair longer tonight than it was this morning?” Rosamund looked at her with her head to the side, quizzically.

Giselle realized that the braids wrapped around her head had begun to sag and put her hand to them. “Oh bother. Yes it is. It grows ridiculously fast, but it grows faster when I am perturbed. Mother said it had to do with the fact that the sylphs like it, but she never told me anything more than that.”

“Probably because she didn't know, herself. If I were you, I'd ask another Air Master if you ever meet one. None in the Brotherhood, I'm afraid. Mostly Fire, then Earth, and a few Water. But I can ask the Graf if he knows one.” Rosamund nodded, and poured the last of the tea for herself, as Giselle put her cup aside. “It's a good thing that I'm taking your place as an Indian maiden, then. If your hair grows that fast, you'd soon have a hard time stuffing it under that wig.”

“I've been cutting it,” she replied.

Rosamund shook her head. “Don't. I mean, stop cutting it, unless it actually gets so long it gets in your way.”

“Oh?” That was interesting. Mother had always insisted she keep her hair as long as possible. “Why?”

“Two reasons. The first is showmanship. A pretty lady sharpshooter with long golden hair is just
too
perfect. The second is . . . I think the sylphs might be using your hair as a place to store Air Magic.” Rosamund held up a cautionary hand. “It's just a theory! I have nothing to base that theory on!”

“My hair . . . as a place to store Air Magic.” Giselle giggled. “That's a very silly theory. But I do think your notion of showmanship is a good one.”

There was a tap on the doorframe, on the other side of the curtains. “It is Leading Fox, who wishes to speak with Miss Schwarzwald.”

“It is Rosamund, and it will be a little crowded but you are welcome to join us,” Rosamund called back.

Fox held the curtain aside to mount the steps and enter the wagon. This time the bird on his shoulder was a magpie. “Kellermann said that you wished to speak with me?” the Indian said gravely. His very presence made the
vardo
feel much smaller.

“Since I'm to be part of your tribe, I wondered if you would mind teaching me Pawnee?” Rosamund asked, with an ingratiating smile. “You know, the usual way
we
do it.”

“I do indeed, and it was in anticipation of that that I brought my friend.” The magpie lofted from Fox's shoulder at his nod and somehow passed through the bed-curtains hiding Rosamund's bed from the room. “If you could play the Pawnee woman during the tours of the camp as well, it would free Rosalita, which would be agreeable to both herself and Pablo.”

Rosamund laughed. “I think I can do that. It seems only fair.”

Fox smiled slightly. “Thank you. Now that you have the teacher, I shall depart.” And with no further words, he pulled aside the curtain again and left.

“And I shall, as well,” Giselle said. “The morning begins extremely early with this show.”

“Oh do trust me on this: it begins even earlier with the Brotherhood,” Rosamund laughed. “I shall find sleeping until dawn to be an unexpected luxury!”

The only reason that the show left three days later was because there was another date to be met, and they would never have managed to get to Reichenbach on time if they stayed any longer. People were still paying to see the show. More people than ever before were paying the extra to take the “tour of the camps.” To say that the changes were successful would have been grossly understating matters.

And despite some initial reservations, it seemed that adding Rosamund to the group had been an excellent idea. She was outstanding with the horses
and
the cattle and buffalo; no surprise to Giselle, who knew how easy it had been for Mother to handle any animal of any sort, but quite the shock to the original trainers of the hairy beasts. She was able to lead all four of them in the Grand Procession all by herself, which she did in her Pawnee costume. She suggested that, given a little more time, she might be able to get them to do a controlled stampede as well, and that, all by itself, won her Captain Cody's heart. Giselle no longer had to half-kill herself getting out of her Quadrille costume and into the war dance piece. Rosamund pleased the other Pawnee by not only drumming correctly, but joining in their song correctly. It appeared that the magpie had given her much more than the Pawnee tongue.

Giselle was a
little
jealous of that, but only a little. She had never had a female friend of her own age before, and she found herself enjoying Rosamund's company quite out of all expectation.

When they set off down the road to their next destination, the town of Reichenbach, Giselle was looking forward to the trip. She would have much more free time in the evenings with Fox and Rosamund, and Rosamund had promised to do what she could to enhance Giselle's Mastery of Air Magic.

“I cannot do
much,”
Rosamund had cautioned. “But I know from what Gunter and Joachim told me that there are certain things Annaliese had not gotten around to coaching you through, and what she had planned
is
something I can do. We just need to find the right place for it.”

“Place?” Giselle had said, quizzically.

“You'll understand when you see it,” was all Rosamund would say.

The journey started off without a single hitch. There was none of the fuss there had been before getting the buffalo into their two carts. Rosamund turned up, and the huge beasts walked right up the ramps and into the carts with no trouble.

So now the caravan was making its way down another road that wound among the great dark trees of the Schwarzwald. This was very thickly forested territory; the trees grew right up to the edge of the road, and canopy overhung it, blotting out the sky. They traveled in a dim, green light, the very hoofbeats muffled by decades, if not centuries, of fallen leaves.